


He Does Not Drink

by operahousehomicide



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Asexual Pierre, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Polyamory, established relationships - Freeform, relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operahousehomicide/pseuds/operahousehomicide
Summary: In which Pierre does not want to proceed with intimate relations, Anatole is a brat, and Fedya understands.





	He Does Not Drink

**Author's Note:**

> this is self indulgent

When Pierre explains to Anatole that he does not want to progress their intimacy beyond where they have arrived, Anatole does not understand. His body is his greatest treasure, and to give it away is one of his favorite pastimes. He holds his worth in his flesh, and when Pierre claims to not want him, he near breaks.

Pierre is patient. Anatole does not understand.

He cries, his shock-blue eyes welling up and his kiss-swollen lower lip jutting out in a pout. He sniffles prettily. Pierre gathers him close and kisses the crown of his head, humming at him from the depths of his chest. Anatole bemoans and wails his way to a fitful sleep. Pierre settles him into his favorite worn armchair before the hearth and tucks a fur throw about him.

Pierre has known about Fedya for a long time. Pierre knew about Fedya before he began this tryst with Anatole. He brings up the subject and again is faced with tears and a fit worthy of the most spoiled child. He explains calmly that he would not object to Anatole engaging in such activities with Fedya, as long as he were to return to Pierre at the end of the night.

Anatole throws himself face down upon the chaise lounge and wails. His feet dangle over the lip of the chair. Pierre makes himself a drink.

The matter of Anatole’s sexuality arises a mere days later, when the aristocrat strolls into Pierre’s reading nook with vicious lovebites painted just over the edge of his high collar. Pierre grazes his thumb over a mark, expression thoughtful, and sets his book aside in favor of guiding Anatole into his lap.

They kiss, slow and sensual and familiar. It takes no time at all before Anatole begins to rise as does the tide, fingers curling into the front of Pierre’s waistcoat, pulling himself flush to Pierre’s chest. His mouth becomes hungry, teeth clumsy and catching upon Pierre’s lower lip. He trembles, and Pierre runs his hands soothingly down Anatole’s sides. Anatole’s hips rut when Pierre places a hand on the small of his back, and Pierre disengages the kiss to allow Anatole a moment to calm himself.

Anatole whines and pouts. Pierre tries to ignore the rising pit of dread in his stomach while he firmly but kindly holds to his resolve. As Anatole shoulders into his coat and storms away, Pierre again makes himself a drink.

He runs into Dolokhov at the market a fortnight later. He could have sent a maidservant, but had decided that some fresh air would be good to his lungs. Fedya approaches him for conversation. Pierre is informed that Anatole is very simple-minded, but will come around, and that Fedya is more than happy to share. Pierre goes home without any groceries and cries.

When Anatole next comes to Pierre’s house, he is quiet and morose. He treads softly over the threshold, shown to Pierre’s room by a maid. His head hangs low, hair flat, pretty blue eyes dull. Pierre does not ask what has happened. He simply opens his arms and beckons Anatole into them.

Anatole crushes himself into Pierre’s embrace and they stay that way for a long pregnant moment. When Anatole quietly disentangles himself, they go to bed. Anatole tucks himself under Pierre’s chin, clad only in his undershirt and smallclothes, and does not press for any more contact than Pierre initiates.

Pierre tilts up Anatole’s face and kisses him softly, then bids him sweet dreams.  He can feel Anatole’s smile on his neck when he presses his face there, hunkering down to sleep. Pierre thinks that perhaps Fedya was right, and that Anatole has come around. He does not fetch for himself a drink, but instead goes to sleep with Anatole in his arms. Soothing, gentle, comforted. They sleep, and they are both content.


End file.
